


Free

by solversonlou



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Post-Canon, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 11:34:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15072314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solversonlou/pseuds/solversonlou
Summary: "You got any plans for the future? (...) Maybe you could move somewhere a little more sunny.""I like the rain. (...) And I like the people in this city."Connor and Hank navigate their lives after the robot revolution.





	Free

"So, you're a free man now, huh?" Hank smiles as he pulls away from Connor's embrace, his hand still clasped to his shoulder.

"I guess so," Connor confirms, looking down towards the ground with a sheepish smile on his lips, watching the rain drizzle in the puddle by his foot. When he looks up again, he squints against the droplets that fall on his forehead for the first time in his life.

"You got any plans for the future?" Hank asks, hand sliding down Connor's arm, taking him by the wrist as he guides him under the marquee of the food stand. He releases his grip on Connor a little suddenly, like he's just realised he's been touching him for too long. Clearing his throat, he leans against the stand, facing Connor. "Maybe you could move somewhere a little more sunny."

"I like the rain," Connor responds with a smile and reaches a hand out from under their shelter, watches with bright eyes as rainwater collects in his open palm. Tilting his hand, the water drops to the ground and Connor turns to Hank, his gaze soft as he takes in the sight of Hank again, the partner he'd grown so close to over time. "And I like the people in this city."

Warmth blooms in Hank's chest at the words, a feeling so fleetingly rare that he'd almost forgotten what it had felt like. He isn't quite sure how to respond, so he waves a dismissive hand, chuckles, "Yeah, well, people can be assholes. You should know. You've spent months with my cranky ass."

"You shouldn't be so hard on yourself, Hank," Connor's eyes are soft, concerned as he tilts his head, taking in the lines of Hank's face. Hank was a good man, the best Connor had encountered. "You've helped me a lot. I think... if I stay here, in Detroit, I'd like to be your friend. Visit you. Maybe I can cook you something, save you from all of these burgers and fries from time to time."

Hank blinks at him, taken aback by the offer. Brow furrowing, he frowns a little, unsure of Connor's culinary skills, "Now how does someone built to solve crimes, who doesn't need to eat, know how to cook?"

Connor laughs, "I don't know how, but I can try."

\- - -

The process of becoming a fully recognised citizen is much more complicated than anticipated. They suppose they should have guessed, what with how strict immigration laws are. Connor finds himself at a loss, unable to register to become a citizen without a fixed address, but it's not like he has much money aside from the government assistance, and it's not like he has a job, either, things unable to obtain legally without citizenship. It's all rather difficult.

"You could..." Hank mulls over his options, chewing the inside of his lip as he watches Connor pet Sumo from his position in his favourite armchair. It's a comforting sight, one he'd seen over the past few days when Connor would visit him from his current temporary residence at a motel. "You could stay here. If you want to. Until you get on your feet."

Looking up from Sumo, Connor's eyes widen a little at Hank's offer. He knew Hank had become trusting of him, even that he'd risk his life and career for him, but the invitation to stay at his house, to live with him, was more than surprising.

It takes a moment for Connor to respond, rising off the heels of his feet from his crouched position on the floor, ruffling Sumo's fur a little as he takes a seat on the couch opposite Hank. Hank gives him a reassuring half smile, one that Connor has seen before, one that leaves him feeling warm. 

Lips curling into a soft smile, Connor gives his response, "I'd like that."

\- - -

Connor realises on his first night at Hank's house that he doesn't own any clothes beyond his Cyberlife uniform, his deviant clothes having been discarded in a dumpster after his infiltration. He'd been just wearing the button up dress shirt and slacks for the past few days, and they were scuffed from the conflict.

"Do you have a sewing kit?" Connor asks Hank after he's settled in, the two of them sat on Hank's couch as the TV plays an old western.

Hank glances at Connor as if the droid had just grown an extra head, brow furrowed and lips parted, "Connor, do I strike you as the type of guy to own a sewing kit?"

"Not in particular, no," Connor admits, thumb absent mindedly poking at the hole in the knee of his slacks, a frown on his features. "Thought it was worth a try."

Eyes drifting to Connor's frayed cotton, Hank puffs out a small chuckle, leans forward on the couch, placing his coffee mug on the coffee table in front of them, "You could borrow some of my old stuff."

Turning to Hank, Connor's eyes widen a little, "You don't have to, Hank. I'm fine, really."

"Ah, it's nothin'," Hank insists, waving a dismissive hand as he rises to his feet, knees cracking a little under him. Connor watches him as he makes his way towards a small closet in his living room. "I kept some old clothes, mostly band shirts. Said I'd wear 'em again if I lost that extra bit of weight."

Hank chuckles as he opens the door, reaches in to pull out a small pile of clothes, "Might as well make some use of 'em. Some of these are rare. There's pants too, but I'm guessing you'll prefer the jeans to the leather and zips."

Connor swallows, remembering the image of Hank in his youth with his colleagues in the newspaper article at the station. He laughs, thinking Hank is joking as Hank makes his way back to the couch. 

When he sees said leather pants, under the pile of t-shirts and jeans, he realises Hank isn't kidding.

"I think the jeans will fit better," Connor says as he picks up a Nirvana t-shirt. It looks a little baggy for his frame, but smaller than what Hank is now. Turning to Hank, he smiles. "Thank you."

 

\- - - 

Retired Hank means bored Hank, which means more likely to drink Hank. He doesn't rely on alcohol as a crutch like he used to, but there are days where he's so bored that Connor worries he'll stray back to drinking. 

Connor comes up with an idea to distract Hank with an offer to go fishing with him.

"Fishing? I'm not eighty, Connor," Hank frowns as he sits on his couch, unopened beer bottle on the coffee table in front of him. He eyes it for a moment before looking back up at Connor's soft, concerned gaze.

"I just thought you could do with something to keep you occupied," Connor reasons, lips curling into an almost sad smile. "It's better thank sitting at home drinking."

"Thought you were my drinking buddy," Hank recalls Connor's offer to him all those months back. Leaning back against the couch, Hank looks up at him.

"Alcohol would shut me down," Connor shrugs as he picks up the fishing poles from the floor, tucks them under his arm. "Care to join me?"

Hank sighs, eyes casting over Connor. He's dressed in one of Hank's old knitted sweaters. There's holes in the sleeves where Connor's thumbs poke through and as Hank takes in the sight of him, he realises slowly just how... soft he looks. Especially as he smiles at him, hopeful that they could spend some time together. 

He'd honestly thought Connor would want to spend time away from him now that he was living with him.

Exhaling, Hank nods, "Alright, alright. I might be shitty though. I've never been fishing in my life."

A half cocked smile crosses Connor's face, head tilting a little, playful, "Between you and me, neither have I."

\- - -

A few weeks in, Hank gets pretty used to having another person in the house. So much so that he's finding himself becoming less dependant on alcohol as a company, especially when the nights are usually quiet without someone there aside from Sumo, who's usually fast asleep.

Of course, Connor doesn't need to sleep. He can simulate it, but there's not much use unless it benefits somebody else. He's there, at three in the morning, a source of conversation for Hank when he can't sleep. 

He's also there as a comfortable silent presence as Hank watches TV and Connor researches recipes.

"Not to be a jackass, Connor," Hank frowns one evening as he pokes at the rice like substance on the plate set in front of him. "But what the hell is this?"

"It's cous-cous," Connor informs him, watching Hank in anticipation from the opposite side of the kitchen table, gaging for his reaction. "It's healthy."

"Jesus," Hank breathes under his breath, picking up some of the food with his fork, face twisting into distrust as he lifts it to his mouth. "I'd ask you to try it, but if it won't poison me, then it'd definitely poison you."

Rolling his eyes, Connor shakes his head, shifts in his chair, impatient, "It won't kill you, Hank. Just try it."

Hank hesitates before taking a bite of the food, lets it linger for a moment as he chews, face twisting a little as he tastes it. It's... surprisingly okay, although he wonders if Connor dumped a shitload of salt onto it to try to make it more appealing. Nodding, he points his fork towards Connor, "This isn't half bad. Could do with less salt, but it's... it's good. Really, Connor. Thank you."

The grin that cracks across Connor's features is more than welcomed, the sight of his sheer giddiness that he'd pleased him leaving Hank's chest blooming with warmth.

Hank could get used to this.

 

\- - -

"Reading anything good there?" Hank asks nonchalantly one morning, still half asleep as he squints at the mail in his hands, leaning against a kitchen counter. He can see Connor sitting at the table, scrolling through an interactive magazine.

"Android Girls Gone Deviant", Connor's response is so casual that Hank doesn't register it as noticeable at first. It's only when he processes it for a second does he look up, blinks slowly at Connor, unsure if he's being serious. 

Connor looks engrossed in whatever it is he's looking at, and when he doesn't respond, Hank can tell he's serious.

Scrunching up his nose, Hank frowns, "Argh, Connor, don't look at that stuff around me. It's weird."

"Hmm," Connor hums, not realising what Hank's talking about for a moment, but then he's looking up at him, brief confusion written on his face before it clicks. A warm flush creeps across Connor's cheeks, eyes wide as he stares at Hank. "Oh, I'm not-- that's not-- there's an article in here I was interested in. It's about the conflict with Russia and the Arctic. It's been reignited now the revolution is out of the way."

Inhaling, Hank eyes Connor for a moment, tries to figure him out. He believes him, he supposes, exhaling as he walks towards the table, coffee mug in hand, "God, I forget they put those in. Wasn't really interested in the articles when my friend found a bunch of Playboys when we were kids. Real vintage ones, from the 90's."

Sipping on his coffee, Hank watches as Connor's eyes scan the interactive magazine, his fingers swiping by the images of android women with little to no clothing. 

Hank realises that droids could feel the same desires as humans. Could feel attraction and love. Especially now as free beings. He'd seen it in those tracis at the Eden club, and in passerby's on the street. He knows he shouldn't ask, that it's probably intrusive, but he's curious.

"Forgive me if I'm being a little brash here, Connor," Hank starts, fingers wrapping around his coffee mug as he shifts in his chair, a little uncomfortable with his own line of questioning. "Do you-- can you feel that sort of way. Towards Android girls, I mean... or any girls. I know the pleasure models have... anatomy, but..."

Connor looks up, meeting Hank's eye as Hank goes quiet, grimacing at his own words like he's put his foot in it. 

Heat creeps across Connor's cheeks at Hank's line of questioning. He isn't offended, not at all. It's just that coming from Hank makes it so... intimate. Swallowing, Connor glances down at his hands pressed flat to the table before chuckling, a little nervous, "Cyberlife made some of us unique and made some of us en masse. There's different lines of models, but they made us all to resemble humans, so... yes. We're all fully equipped in that area."

What a painstakingly awkward and complex way to word it, Hank thinks. He chastises himself, it was his own damn fault for asking something so invasive.

Swallowing, Hank nods slowly but firmly, face burning hot in a way that he can't blame entirely on the coffee.

"As for my interest in women," Connor exhales, eyes casting over the flesh displayed in the magazine before him. Huffing out a laugh, he closes the magazine, looks up at Hank, a reassuring look that tells him it's okay, that he's not embarassed by Hank's intrigue. "I can't quite say exactly yet."

Hank laughs, the air settling as his shoulders sink, relieved that Connor doesn't seem to be offended. He drinks the last of his coffee, stands up from his chair, "Well, let me know when you do. Finding a girl might be your one way ticket away from sleeping on my couch. I'm sure you'd love to get away from my boring ass."

Connor frowns, blinks at the back of Hank as Hank rinses his mug in the sink. He doesn't like that Hank thinks he doesn't want to be around him. He decides not to press on it, figures that Hank is probably just joking. Instead, he tries to lighten it with his own response, "I don't sleep, but your couch is comfortable."

Hank scoffs out a laugh.

\- - -

They're walking Sumo through one of the parks in a nicer part of the city, Connor telling Hank about how he'd sent off his documentation for citizenship. Any day now he'd be given the same rights as everybody else as an American citizen. 

Hank smiles and nods, but it's an effort. There's an underlying worry to his happiness that Connor is finally getting on his feet. The implication of Connor moving out is a little more than troublesome to him.

A voice stops them both in their tracks, mature and sweet, speaking in a hushed tone as she tries to shoo off a rather rambuctious Shitzu at the end of the leash she's clutching onto.

"Gosh, I'm so sorry," she apologises, embarrassed by her pet's behaviour as she pulls it back and it settles down a little, tearing away from an unbothered looking Sumo. The woman looks up at Hank, realisation dawning on her face as she grins. "Oh... I saw you on the TV! You're the lieutenant-- the one that helped with the robot revolution."

Hank smiles a little sheepishly, remembering how his face was splashed across newspapers, alongside Connor's, "Yeah, I'm afraid so."

Connor's brow furrows as he glances between the two, his cheek twitching ever so slightly when he looks at the woman. He isn't sure why he's so brash when he addresses her, but he steps forward, draws the attention away from Hank with a forced grin, "You might recognise me too."

"Ah," the woman squints, a nervous chuckle leaving her as she glances Connor over. There isn't any hint of recognition in her eyes, none at all. "I'm afraid not, my dear."

Frown deepening, Connor inhales, unimpressed, "I'm Connor."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Connor," the woman sympathises briefly before turning back to Hank. Her eyes practically light up like a fireworks display when she sees him, giddiness over-apparent. "I must have been too distracted by your handsome friend here."

She's flirting, so painfully obviously so. Connor had usually felt indifferent to seeing people engage in it. Aside from back at the Eden club, when those two girls had told him they were in love, and it'd made Connor lower his weapon, a twinge of recognition in the depth of him somewhere. Empathy, amidst confusion. 

Now, watching this woman flirt with Hank, all he felt was irritation.

It's somewhat apparent to Hank, because he ends his chuckle of appreciation at the woman's compliment by glancing at him. He can tell instantly that Connor isn't happy, his borderline Norman Bates death glare a cue for them to leave. 

Turning to the woman, Hank smiles, forcing politeness, "I better get going. The wife'll complain if I keep this guy out too long."

Both Connor and the woman shift quickly, eyes widening as they look to Hank, confused. Realisation crosses the woman's face and she flushes, embarrassed as she stumbles to respond, "Oh, of course! It was nice meeting you, lieutenant."

Hank gives her another polite smile, and Connor keeps his eyes on him as the woman walks away, her dog trailing behind her. 

Connor frowns, blinks at Hank slowly, trying to register exactly why Hank had lied like that.

"Don't look so confused," Hank says, rolling his eyes as he tugs on Sumo's leash and they start to walk again. "You think I'd be into a woman like that?"

"I don't know," Connor tries to act and sound casual, but he doesn't quite get there. He's still wondering why Hank lied to her. "She was certainly well manicured."

"Christ," Hank can't help but bark out a laugh, shaking his head as he walks alongside Connor. "She wasn't a fucking show pony, Connor."

\- - -

Hank takes Connor to a concert for his own birthday, loses him in the crowd. He's worried for a while, heart thumping in his ears under the sound of heavy metal music, but his concerns are squashed when Connor returns, a couple of punk girls in tow.

"Hank, I thought I'd lost you!" Connor says, loud so he can hear him, a grin on his face. He looks... different, and it's only when the punk girls have handed Connor over to Hank with laughs and a goodbye to Connor that includes kisses to his cheek, that Hank realises exactly what's happened.

"Did you get a goddamn makeover?" Hank asks him when they're out of the dark, loud crowd and under the street light, brow furrowed as he studies Connor's face. Swallowing, he notices how... sultry Connor's eyes look, rimmed with black pencil, his lips a shade of dark purple.

"Those girls that helped me find you again gave me some tips," Connor shrugs, leaning against the brick wall in one of Hank's old band shirts and a pair of jeans. "They said I looked like a Mormon trying to infiltrate the alternative scene to teach them about Jesus. Then they put this on me."

Hank's too distracted by how weirdly good Connor looks in the get up to respond with a laugh at the girls' accurate description. Instead, he just nods, tries not to stare too long. 

"Maybe you should try it," Connor suggests, a playful smirk on his lips as he sways slightly on his feet, and the suggestion and look leaves Hank's face flushing hot.

"I'm way too fucking old for that shit, Connor," Hank scoffs, waving a dismissive hand as Connor chuckles, the sound of it not helping Hank's conflicting thoughts. "Come on. Let's get outta here. I'm starving."

\- - - 

"Special occasion? Birthday? Valentines?" the cashier behind the jewellery counter inquires, a suggestive smile on her lips as she gestures with a nod of her head to behind Connor.

Glancing over his shoulder, Connor sees that she's looking at Hank who's currently surveying a display of charm bracelets, hands dug in his pockets, apparently bored out of his mind.

"Oh..." realisation dawns on Connor, heat creeping up the back of his neck as he turns back towards the saleswoman. He's about to correct her, tell her that it wasn't like that between Hank and him, but something stops him. Swallowing, he looks down at the watch, then back up at the cashier, a smile playing on his lips. "Birthday."

"We get a lot of ladies your partner's age coming in here buying stuff for their husbands," the cashier says as she presses a few buttons on the tablet register, a warm smile on her features. "It's nice to see something different. You guys make a cute couple."

The heat creeping up Connor's neck spreads quickly to his cheeks, gaze averting as he tries to contain the giddiness that overtakes him. The face that someone could look at him and Hank and come to the conclusion that they were a couple should have been offputting, but something about it makes Connor feel so pleased.

Handing over the cash from his pocket, Connor gives the woman a nod and a smile, "Thank you."

Taking the gift bag, Connor makes his way out of the store, finds Hank hanging around outside in the mall area, arms folded across his chest as he leans against the store window.

"Finally," Hank greets Connor with a small chuckle, walks alongside him. "What were you getting in there?"

"A gift," Connor says, truthfully, and then he lies. "For Markus. To thank him for all he did for me, for the revolution."

"Huh," Hank doesn't understand why the thought of Connor buying gifts for someone else leaves him a little disappointed, but it does. He shrugs it off, hands dug in his pockets. "Well, you're a better guy than me. Best gift I ever got someone was a grocery store cake."

\- - -

"Connor, I..." Hank blinks down at the watch, wrapped up in a fancy box and paper. It's flashy, but not too over the top. Classic and modern all at once.

"I know it's not as high-tech as some brands," Connor explains, trying to hide his worry over whether Hank likes it or not, unsure of what to make of his expression. "I just figured you'd prefer something simple."

"It's fuckin' awesome," Hank's lips stretch into a grin as he picks up the watch, eyes crinkling at the corners as he drapes it over his wrist. "For Markus, my ass! You really had me going there at the mall."

Connor's eyes light up at Hank's reaction, warmth blooming within him as he watches Hank adjust the strap around his wrist. Chuckling, Connor folds his hands behind his back, swings on the heels of his feet, "Who says I didn't buy two of them? Markus could be getting the same thing."

Snorting out a laugh, Hank shakes his head at Connor's teasing. He admires the gift for a long moment before looking up at Connor, a flood of joy surging through him at the sight of Connor's smiling face, along with the combination of the gift.

Eyes widening, Connor is a little taken aback when he feels Hank's hand on his shoulder, pulling him into a hug. He sinks into the touch quickly, though, arms wrapping around Hank's back, hands cupping his shoulder blades.

The touch brings them both back to the their hug outside the chicken stand, after the revolution. Only, the embrace is tighter now, and Hank's cheek is pressed to Connor's temple, and neither of them are letting go quite as soon as they had done before.

The scent of Hank's aftershave is a warm familiarity, something that Connor had smelled on the clothes that Hank had let him wear the first nights he'd stayed there. The one he smells in Sumo's fur when Sumo lays with him, and on the blankets he drapes over Hank when Hank falls asleep on the couch late at night.

"Thank you," Hank says eventually, pulling away slightly from the embrace, but his hands still linger, pressed to Connor's biceps. 

Connor's gaze flickers across Hank's features, taking in the lines and angles that he'd grown to be so fond of. He's so handsome, perhaps not conventionally so from what Connor had seen in the media. He's older and grizzled and there are lines in his face and his beard hasn't been trimmed in weeks, but Connor is so utterly taken by Hank whenever he looks at him.

He briefly remembers his conversation with Hank about what sort of girl Connor found attractive. He thinks he might know the answer to that now, cheeks flushing warm as his gaze drifts to the curve of Hank's mouth.

The disappointment that twinges in Hank's chest as Connor pulls away is soul crushing, his lips parting to say something, but no words quite coming out.

Connor chuckles, overcompensating perhaps as he tries to divert the moment, "I heard you liked grocery store cake. There may be another surprise for you in the fridge."

Huffing out a laugh, Hank tries not to think about the press of Connor's body against his own, the warmth of him against him. Shaking his head, he jokes, "So much for you learning to cook, then."

\- - -

Hank is showing Connor Robocop for the first time, only just having realised that Connor hadn't seen it, along with hundreds of other classics. 

Surprisingly, despite how many times he's watched it over the years, Hank finds the violence a little gruesome at times, even after all that he's seen in his line of work. He supposes he's never seen a guy get each of his limbs blown off and obliterated with a shotgun, though.

Connor is unperturbed by the violence, but Hank suspects it's more so to do with Connor being distracted by something on his mind and not to do with sheer disinterest to movie violence.

Pausing the film, Hank turns to Connor on the couch, "Alright, what's wrong with you?"

Connor blinks at him slowly, "What do you mean?"

"You've been looking like a kicked poodle all day," Hank explains as he shifts on the couch, legs uncrossing as his feet plant on the ground and he twists closer to Connor.

The brush of Hank's arm against his own startles Connor somewhat, his shoulder leaning away instinctively, like he's scared that Hank will somehow be able to figure him out just by that brush of skin. 

He contemplates briefly whether he should be honest, but Hank is looking at him with such concerned, soft eyes that he can't bring himself to lie to him. Swallowing, Connor's lips press into a straight line before he explains himself, "I keep wondering what will happen when I get citizenship. I'm... apprehensive about the future."

Hank nods in understanding. He knows exactly how Connor feels, becuase he's been worried over Connor leaving for weeks, months even. Reaching a hand out, Hank hesitates for a moment, but then he's clasping Connor's shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze, lips pressed into a half smile, "You'll be alright. You can handle yourself, we both know that. You'll meet new people, get yourself out there. Maybe even get yourself a girl."

Connor's lips press into a small frown, unable to even muster up a false smile as he glances at the floor between his knees, hands linked in front of him. Exhaling, he shakes his head lightly, "I'm not scared of what others will think, or who I'll meet. I'm just..."

Hank tilts his head, taking in the tense squaring of Connor's shoulders, the way he won't look at him. Something's wrong, Hank had felt an underlying worry in Connor for the past couple of days, ever since he got the confirmation letter of a court date to make his citizenship official.

Shifting on the couch, Hank leans closer to Connor, the warm weight of his hand a comfort as it slides down Connor's bicep, squeezes him again, "Go on. Y'know I was never good at this talking stuff, but I can tell when something needs saying."

Connor bites the inside of his lip, contemplates for a long moment, the weight of Hank's hand and his kind words, all that he'd done for him over the past few months... it's all so much. 

Turning his head, Connor looks at Hank, eyes soft and serious as he speaks, voice quiet like he's scared to say it, "I don't want to leave here, Hank. I don't want to leave you."

_Silence._

It a moment for Hank to process Connor's words. His mind swims with his own thoughts about the time he'd spent getting to know Connor. He'd overcome his hatred, learned to care so deeply about the man Connor had become. The man sitting before him now, after living with him for so long, sharing his home. He's been his companion, his equal. His friend. 

Hank can hardly remember the last time he'd been so happy to see another person's face every morning.

Connor's chest twinges as Hank's hand pulls away from him, aching over the lack of contact. It's short lived because he feels Hank's fingers on his hands, linked between his knees in front of him. His anxious grip on himself loosens as he lets Hank pull one of his hands towards his knee, holds it there.

"Connor..." Hank isn't sure entirely what to say, words evading him as he takes in Connor's sad brown eyes, the way his lips curl down at the corners as he holds his gaze. Swallowing, he squeezes Connor's hand, thumb running across his knuckles. "You've spent Christ know's how long taking care of my useless ass. Helping me do my job... making sure I didn't put a bullet in my head. I was a complete ass to you sometimes, but you stuck with me. You helped me get better."

Connor swallows, face softening, warm as he listens to Hank's words.

"It's not up to me what you do with your life, Connor. Just don't feel like you have to stick around for me," Hank tries to reassure Connor with his own assumptions about Connor's feelings towards him. He worries that maybe Connor feels guilty about leaving him alone. 

Eyes dragging away from Connor's face, Hank swallows, his thumb rubbing circles in the warm skin of Connor's hand. "I wouldn't mind, though. If you decided to stay. Here, with me."

Connor looks so... taken aback when Hank looks up at him. His eyes are wider, lips parted as he blinks at Hank, a look that Hank can't entirely read. Surprised, perhaps? Joy? 

Biting the inside of his lip, Hank squeezes Connor's fingers again. He smiles, gentle and small as he exhales, "I want you to stay, Connor."

Connor's lips press into a grin, the sight leaving the worried feeling in Hank's chest more than a memory as he blooms with warmth at it. Tugging onto Hank's hand, Connor pulls him across the couch, arms wrapping around his shoulders.

Chuckling, Hank's breath hits Connor's neck as he presses his face into his shoulder, the warm scent of his own aftershave hitting his nostrils. He wonders briefly if perhaps Connor had used some when he wasn't looking, that he wanted to smell him when he wasn't there.

Connor's hands are a warm, comforting weight on Hank's back as they pull him closer, thumbs rubbing circles into Hank's shoulder blades.

They stay like that for a while, Connor's chin tucked over Hank's shoulder, still smiling as he relishes in the embrace. To think of their first tense meeting compared to this was incredible.

Connor is the one to pull away first, but he still holds onto Hank, gaze casting across the lines of his face, the shade of his eyes. Connor knows now exactly what his type is. He'd known it back when Hank had asked him what kind of girl he was into.

"Hank, would you mind if I tried something?" Connor asks, eyes half lidded as they cross Hank's face again. 

Swallowing, Hank's neck flushes hot. He glances towards Connor's lips, then back up to his eyes again, "What would that be?"

Connor's hand moves to cup Hank's face, thumb brushing lightly across his warm cheek, and Hank doesn't say or do anything about the touch, just blinks at Connor slowly.

Hank doesn't close his eyes at first, slowly processing the brush of Connor's nose against his own, followed by the press of his soft mouth against his lips. 

Connor's thumbs hook under his jaw, lips not moving much in the lingering but chaste kiss that he gives him. 

Hank's lashes flutter close after a moment, sinking into the touch, fingers curling in the material of his own old sweater, the one that's just a little baggy on Connor's back. Hank presses back against the kiss, a little firmer as Connor presses his fingers into the nape of his neck, the two of them shifting closer, Connor's knees bumping against Hank's thigh, raising onto the couch a little higher.

He can't recount how many times he'd thought about this. Whether it be wondering what Connor's lips would feel like against his own after watching him give Sumo forehead kisses, or if Connor's skin would feel warm under his touch when his t-shirts would roll up over his stomach as he stretched to reach something.

Only, Connor was the one to make the first move in reality, because... of course he was. Hank should have known. Connor was so pro-active, always taking the initiative. Hank should have known.

Connor tastes like something purely... Connor, and as his tongue presses passed Hank's lips, Hank is suddenly reminded of all the times Connor had put evidence in his mouth. Maybe Connor could taste him and figure everything out about him.

Grunting, Hank tilts his head away, breaking the kiss as his neck falls against the arm of the couch, "Christ, Connor."

Connor's eyes are almost dazed as he blinks down at Hank, perched between his legs on the couch. He looks worried, like he's done something wrong, "I'm sorry, Hank. I shouldn't have..."

"What?" Hank frowns, fingers reaching out to hold Connor's bicep, stopping him from getting up. "Where are you going? I was just catching my breath."

Connor licks his lips, and the sight of it stirs something within Hank, "Oh."

A breathless grin spreads across Hank's face, and Connor can't help but chuckle back, the sounds of their laughter warming them both. 

"C'mere," Hank tugs Connor down by his sweater, pulling him on top of him, Connor's knees either side of Hank's thighs, his hands pressed to Hank's chest.

Their mouths crash together this time, harder than before, and Connor probably uses way too much tongue, but Hank doesn't mind it. He doesn't mind it at all, his hips craning up when Connor's tongue brushes against his own, fingers tugging at the hem of his sweater.

Connor's fingers move to the buttons of Hank's shirt, forehead craning against Hank's for a moment, a silent question. 

Hank nods, nose bumping against Connor's, and then he's kissing him again, and Connor is unbuttoning his shirt, pushing the material open so he can map his hands across Hank's torso.

Hank's own hands tug at Connor's sweater, rolling it up over his hips and stomach, broad, calloused palms pressing against the heated skin of Connor's stomach. He's toned, built to be fit, the muscles under his skin tighter than Hank's had ever been, even in his youth. His skin is so smooth, much smoother than Hank, who groans into Connor's mouth when he rolls his hips down against him, Hank already half hard in his jeans. 

Connor's fingertips trail patterns across the ink of Hank's chest tattoo, the one he'd seen after Hank had showered, one he had always wanted to reach out and touch. He'd wanted so often to trace Hank's skin with his fingers, feel the lines from age and the salt and pepper hair on his chest.

A grunt leaves the back of Hank's throat, vibrating against Connor's mouth as Connor presses his lips to Hank's neck. His skin tastes like aftershave, along with the slight scent of Sumo's fur. It's not unpleasant, especially to Connor, whose tongue practically buzzes as he mouths at Hank's throat.

"Jesus, Connor," Hank groans, fingertips digging into the curve of Connor's lower back, pressing against the dimples in his flesh. "You trying to eat me here?"

Connor's warm breath hits Hank's skin as he chuckles, ribs vibrating under Hank's fingertips. His teeth graze Hank's flesh ever so lightly as he speaks, "Something like that."

Hank ruts his hips up and Connor gasps, nose pressed to Hank's chest as the friction of Hank's jeans against his own lighter slacks proves to be a little too much.

"You've got no idea," Hank breathes out, rolling his hips up again, feeling the hard press of Connor's cock through layers of fabric. "How long I've wanted to do this."

"I could say the same thing," Connor teases, fingers splaying on Hank's chest as he sits up, grins down at him with half lidded eyes and dark lashes.

Hank swallows as he blinks up at him, watches as Connor trails a hand down his torso, over the curve of his softer stomach, thumb rubbing across the knife scar on his abdomen, before he's unzipping Hank's jeans.

Connor's fingers are so... skilled. Perks of being a droid, Hank supposes. 

Hank gasps into Connor's mouth as Connor cranes his neck down to kiss him, his fingers wrapping around the weight of his cock.

Connor gets a languid pace on him, wrist moving slowly at first, drawing grunts out of the back of Hank's throat, fingernails digging into Connor's biceps. Connor mouths across Hank's neck, the soft scratch of his beard a welcoming feeling against his lips.

The combined press of Connor's mouth, pressing wet and hot against his skin, and the quickening pace of his fingers around him, leaves Hank breathless, hips rocking into each press, hands mapping across Connor's back as Connor presses down into him.

Hank cranes his neck up, captures Connor's mouth in his own, arousing a groan from Connor, who ruts down against him, his own cock stirring in his pants.

"Connor," Hank interrupts after a moment or two, his fingertips brushing against the waistband of Connor's pants, pulling away from the kiss as he looks up at him. "You gonna let me return the favour? 'Cause I'm feeling a little selfish here."

Connor bites his bottom lip, looks down at where his fingers are wrapped around Hank. Connor nods slowly, shifting in his position, a small noise leaving him when he feels himself rub against Hank's thigh through layers of fabric.

Sliding his hands under the waistband of Connor's pants, Hank pulls them down over Connor's hips as he kisses across the line of Connor's jaw and down his neck.

Hank's fingers are rougher than Connor's, calloused from age and work, thicker and shorter as they wrap around Connor's cock, drawing a stuttered groan from Connor, who rolls his hips down into the touch, an almost immediate reaction.

Connor's fingers grip onto Hank's shoulders as he cranes against, rutting into the grip he has around him. The pre-come from them both is enough lubrication to aide them.

Nose bumping against Connor's cheek, Hank kisses his face before pressing his lips to the shell of his ear, breath hot against it, "Jesus, you're beautiful."

Connor's already warm face flushes hotter, cheeks burning as his hands map down Hank's torso, thumb brushing over the scar on his stomach. He wants to lean down and kiss it, but he's distracted by Hank's fingers, especially as they shift, his hips adjusting below him until he's got the length of both of them in his grip.

The press of Hank's cock, thick and weighted against his own, is almost enough alone to send Connor over the edge as he groans and cranes into the touch, "Hank..."

The sound of Connor saying his name like that short circuits Hank for a moment, cock twitching even without the added press of his fingers or Connor's own arousal. A familiar heat coils in his abdomen, thumb brushing over the heads of both of them, drawing groans from them both.

Hank is the first one to come, hips circling in short, shallow thrusts, eyes sliding shut as he groans into Connor's shoulder and comes, hot and hard, spilling between the two of them.

Hank's hand loosens a little, slack in the aftermath of his orgasm, but Connor doesn't seem to mind as he rocks his hips down, his lips finding Hank's mouth as Hank cranes his neck up to meet him.

Connor's tongue traces Hank's lips as Hank curls a hand into the nape of his neck, his thumb brushing encouragements into his skin as Connor ruts against him, the softer curve of Hank's stomach purchase and friction for his cock.

It isn't long before Connor is following after Hank, groaning as he comes, spilling over Hank's hand and stomach.

Connor cranes against Hank as he rides out his orgasm, forehead pressed to the meat of Hank's shoulder, one hand pressed into his hip, the other cupping his bearded cheek.

Hank is still catching his breath, calloused fingers tracing absentmindedly across Connor's back, feeling the firm muscles beneath his skin. Exhaling, he presses a soft kiss to Connor's temple, smiles into it when he feels the vibration of Connor's laughter against his shoulder and chest.

Connor's chin tilts up, rests on the tattoo on Hank's chest, lips stretched into the same smile/smirk he'd given Hank time and time again, "I take it this means I can stay?"

Hank chuckles, pushes his fingers through Connor's still perfectly placed strands of hair on his forehead. Feigning offense, he speaks, "Oh, so you lower my defenses and then swindle me out of a home? Incredible."

Connor scrunches his nose up at him before pinching his stomach, resulting in a soft noise of surprise from Hank, whose eyes widen as Connor chuckles, rolling off of him, "You finally figured out my master plan, Lieteunant. The revolution has begun."

Hank scoffs, shifts to sit up, turning to Connor as Connor props himself up on his elbow, blinks at him. Hank cups his face, pulls him in for a kiss as he speaks, "Well count me in as a willing participant."

\- - -

"Connor, you don't have to pretend to sleep every night, you know," Hank says, rolling over on his mattress, squinting at the sunlight that seeps through the blinds of his bedroom. 

"It's what couples do," Connor shrugs before turning his head to the side, laid out on his back with his fingers interlinked on his stomach. His lips curl into a smile, dimples appearing in his cheeks, and the sight of it and him is so ridiculously warming, Hank's own lips pressing into a soft smile.

"A couple?" Hank asks, languid and still half asleep, wriggling on his front, closer to Connor's warm body. He presses his lips to Connor's shoulder before resting his forehead against it, inhaling the scent of his own aftershave. "Huh, I guess that's what we are, aren't we?"

Connor's cheek presses to the crown of Hank's head, eyes sliding shut as he reaches a hand across Hank's bare shoulders, fingertips tracing light patterns into his skin, "If that's what you want us to be."

Hank hums, nose brushing against Connor's bicep. The bedsheets tangle beneath him as he sits up, a soft noise of discomfort leaving him at the stretch of his muscles as he settles besides Connor, turns to him with a lazy smile. 

Connor's fingers find Hank's cheek, thumb brushing over the texture of his beard, his other hand moving to tuck his messy hair from where he'd been sleeping behind his ear. Connor is always so struck by how handsome Hank is, especially in moments like this, the early morning sun settling over him. 

"I wouldn't mind it," Hank admits, his own hand settling on Connor's hip as he leans closer to him. "I wouldn't mind it at all.

Hank can feel the grin on Connor's lips as he leans in to kiss him, eyes sliding shut as they roll together.


End file.
